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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055829">Sacrifice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitchiBee/pseuds/MitchiBee'>MitchiBee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055829</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitchiBee/pseuds/MitchiBee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Arya knew that her place was beside her little brother, and she'd do whatever it took to keep him safe.</p><p>AU where Arya dies after slaying the Night King</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark &amp; Bran Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sacrifice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arya knew hell existed when she heard the blade cut through and take her father’s head, when men shouted, fought and died as a massacre occurred behind walled gates where her mother and oldest brother lost their lives when she had seven gashes decorating her tunic in crimson as she crawled for her life on the streets of Braavos. Little did Arya know, hell was nothing like that.</p><p>No. This was hell. </p><p>The Seven hells opened their mouths and spat all the horror and fear and death back onto their world and the gods sat upon their thrones watching as the mortals below burned.</p><p>The dead were among them. No wall, no real hope, nothing more than sheer human stubbornness uniting former enemies of the land together as one to face a greater threat. Your House mattered not, noble blood or low born, man, woman, and child… you fought or you died.</p><p>And if you died, gods help you.</p><p>The plan was simple at its core— survive. </p><p>Jon and Daenerys led soldiers, those who remained after war-torn Westeros apart, and her dragons at the forefront. Sansa further inland coordinating with men riding north to defend what was left of their homes, more likely marching to their doom. But weren’t they all?</p><p>Her eyes moved from the mouth of the cave to her brother in his chair, eyes white like the curtain of snow masking the cavern they were in. They needed Bran here, they said, close to the battlefield but somehow safe. How safe could he be, she had argued but her words fell on deaf ears. At the very least she secured her spot beside him. Arya had no intention of losing another pack member and right now, it was Bran who needed her most. </p><p>The cave remained eerily silent except for the occasional echo of steel on steel or cries from the wounded and dying. The snow blanketed most of their sounds but from earlier yesterday evening the battle had grown louder. There wasn’t much time left. They were losing this war and she and Bran had nowhere to run. It was too risky to move him now. Arya wasn’t sure if she’d even manage to move and protect her younger brother at the same time. There was too much risk.</p><p>Arya’s grip on the Valyrian dagger tightened. It’d work to her favor better if she had a longer blade forged from Valyrian steel, she wasn’t looking forward to the close combat with the hoard of the undead. </p><p>Gods be good they were coming. </p><p>Wights could be killed easily enough, in comparison. Set them ablaze, though being trapped in a cave with only one exit blazing with fiery wights was not ideal. The white walkers though? They knew Bran was here. Her brother was able to disclose that much before warging. Their location was a risk but he needed to be close in order to fight for control over Viserion, it was pivotal to their cause that the Night King didn’t have control of a dragon. </p><p>Arya kneeled by Bran taking his hand for a moment, probably of the lasts they’d share, an ominous dread in the pit of her stomach warned her so. “I know you probably can’t hear me right now. But you have to promise me that you’re going to be strong and you have to live. You help them win this war, little brother. And when it’s over, you got to live.”</p><p>She was expendable, Bran was not, not simply for his role against the Night King but because they’d lost enough of their family. She was going to protect her baby brother. She had to. </p><p>It’s a blur. The path was clear in her mind and the destination presented himself to her, underestimating her, as they all did. It’d be his fatal mistake. Of that, she was certain. </p><p>She only managed one last glance at Bran, pupils still white, locked in a trance. This would be better, she reasoned to herself. He had already been sentenced to a fate of watching the worst of their world. Maybe he’d be spared this gruesome scene.</p><p>Charging, dagger in her left hand, her right steadying herself as she leaped at the Night King. She choked at the frigid hand clenching around her throat. Her skin burned from the frost, and air knocked out of her lungs. But she managed to loosen her grip of the dagger’s hilt, ignoring the survival instinct SCREAMING at her idiocy for relinquishing her weapon. </p><p>In a nick of time, she caught it, thrusting the blade up between the cracks in the Night King’s armor, the same moment she felt a jolt of ice-cold lodge itself in her lungs. She fell as he shattered, it would have been beautiful once, to see snowfall and ice shatter and melt to give way to summer.</p><p>She could only focus on the wetness as the ice melted upon her warm adrenaline-driven body, heart pounding in her ears. Wet. Too wet.</p><p>Arya dropped to her knees, wiping at the sharp ache in her chest as she inhaled and exhaled. Even in the dim lighting of scattered torches, she recognized the all too familiar crimson.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, spitting out the iron pooling in her mouth. It was getting hard to breathe. She looked up to find herself staring into the eyes of a scared boy. The same who she once held close, promising to defend against ghouls and ghost. I kept my promise, she wanted to say. More than that, she wished she could show him that it’d be okay. It was all okay now. And Bran ought to be free to live a life of his own again, not one fated and controlled by destiny. </p><p>“It... it’s alright.” She managed a faint smile as the darkness clouded her vision. </p><p>“I stuck him with the pointy end.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a bit rough and maybe one day I'll revisit and polish it up. I started this when the final season was airing and I told myself the ONLY way I'd accept Arya's death was if it happened while she was protecting her family.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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